


That Musical Voice

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25279192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: He had fallen, he knew that much.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	That Musical Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Title: That Musical Voice
> 
> Author: Gumnut
> 
> 15 Jul 2020
> 
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS
> 
> Rating: Teen
> 
> Summary: He had fallen, he knew that much.
> 
> Word count: 2700
> 
> Spoilers & warnings: Virgil whump
> 
> Timeline: Season One
> 
> Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary 2019 Fic Twelve. For @weirdburketeer who asked for Virgil and Struggle so long ago and I haven’t written a thing specifically for her in all of these two years, so I put a quick hold on the current Fandomversary to revisit her missed prompt from the last one. I hope you enjoy it. ::hugs you so much:: Thank you for your amazing support throughout these two years, you have been just wonderful to me ::hugs you even more:: Please note that John crawled into this more than expected, I hope that is okay. I have no control over these things.
> 
> Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight @scribbles97 and @vegeticide for the reading and cheerleading ::hugs::
> 
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.
> 
> -o-o-o-

He had fallen, he knew that much.

The lights in his helmet blinded him and a fumbling hand found the switch that turned them off.

He closed his eyes.

“Virgil!” John’s voice was sharp in his ear and it sparked sluggish neurons into activity.

Wha-?

“Virgil, respond!”

He managed a grunt and forced his eyes open.

His world was blue ice.

It was beautiful. He stared. Sculptured arcs, white through to deep blues in the dim light. Water was running somewhere, trickling like tinkling bells. He was lying on a narrow ledge in a narrow crevice. This was probably bad, but the fog in his mind was fixated by beauty.

“Virgil! Status!”

John was upset. Why was John upset? This is a wondrous place.

“Virgil, Scott and Gordon are on their way. Please respond.” Johnny was pleading.

“J-John? ‘S beautiful.”

“Virgil!”

“S-sto’ yelling.”

There was silence for a moment and Virgil let his eyes close again. His head was so foggy he needed to sleep it off. He drifted.

Only to be yelled awake again. “Virgil, please!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, thank god.” John sounded worried.

“Wha’ss wrong?”

“Virgil, you fell down an ice crevice.”

He did? He forced his eyes open again. So beautiful. “‘S beautiful.”

“Virgil, medical status?”

Medical status? Uh? Flat on his belly, he couldn’t see anything but the blue of his fingertips. Fingerless gloves were a mistake. Useful, but a vulnerability. He really needed to remove them from the uniform pattern assembly. He had been meaning to do that for some time, but...time. God, he was tired.

“Virgil?”

“Wha-?”

“I’m reading some injury. What is your status?” Gentle. Johnny was being gentle now. Why was that a worry?

“You ‘kay?”

“I’m fine, Virgil. How are you?”

“Tired.” He let his eyes close again.

“Virgil.” It was almost sung, like Gordon at his most annoying. But this was Johnny. Johnny was kind and smart and always there.

“Mmmhmm.”

“You need to stay awake, Virgil. Scott is coming.”

Scott. Scott knew what to do. Always did.

“Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you in pain?”

Pain?

That prompted him to move.

His chest and left leg screamed at him. His breath vanished. He must have said something because John was calling his name again.

Oh, god, ow.

“Virgil, are you there?”

“’m there.” It was more a whimper than anything else.

Another exhaled breath of relief drifted over comms. John must have a shit of a time up in space just watching and being unable to do anything. The thought pushed a few neurons into more rational thinking. He had to do what John said because he didn’t want him to worry. “Sorry, John.”

Sorry.

Sorry.

Damn, he was tired.

He closed his eyes again.

Only to be shaken awake.

What?

“Virgil.” There was fear in John’s voice.

What was scaring his brother?

The ice beneath his fingers shivered. Huh?

“Virgil, you need to get out of there. Scott’s not going to make it in time.”

What? Scott was always on time.

“Virgil?”

Focus. John needed him. John was scared. Little brothers shouldn’t be scared.

“’m here.” He spat something out and red splattered on the inside of his helmet. Shit. That can’t be good. The medic in him activated, listing off causes.

Shit.

“Virgil, can you move?”

“Uh, not without pain. May…may h-have busted a rib or two.”

The ice under him shivered again. What was doing that?

“Virgil, you’re going to have to climb out. The glacier is unstable and the area is still experiencing tremors.”

Tremors. The thought sparked more thoughts. He had been fishing a climber out of a glacier after an earthquake. New Zealand.

“Climber safe?”

“He’s on Thunderbird Two. You were retrieving equipment when a tremor collapsed the ice you were standing on.”

“Tha’ sounds stupid.”

“It wasn’t, trust me. Do you have your ice pick?”

Ice pick? Moving sucked. He didn’t want to move.

“Virgil, do you have your ice pick?”

God, John knew how to nag. But John was worried. John shouldn’t be worried.

He moved his arm and felt around, hissing between his teeth when his ribs complained. But his hand landed on the cold metal of the tool he had been holding when he fell. He forced his cold fingers to curl around the implement and pull it close.

His eyes closed again without permission.

“Virgil?”

He forced his eyes open again. “John?”

“Do you have your ice pick?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Repeat.”

Sigh. “Yes, John.”

“You had your crampons deployed before you fell. Do you have your grapple gun?”

Grapple gun?

He clung to the ice pick and felt around again. Ice. Cold. Crumbled fragments. Sharp slivers that hurt when his fingers encountered them.

“No grapple gun.” It was a pain-filled exhale.

John didn’t respond immediately and Virgil took the opportunity to drift into a painless oblivion.

The ice beneath him shook and groaned. He startled as the movement triggered whatever the hell was wrong with his left leg. His gasp must have hit orbit because John started calling his name again.

“Virgil, you have to get out of there. Climb!”

Climb? Are you kidding?!

He could barely move!

But his decision was forced as the ice beneath him suddenly cracked and began sliding downwards.

Not good. Not good! He gripped his ice pick as training and reflexes were shoved to the fore.

He moved without thinking and his whole body screamed as the ledge fell away beneath him. One arm whipped out and dug the pick into the crevasse wall. It bit hard as his body fell and impacted with the ice.

Everything whited out.

“Virgil! Respond! Virgil!”

His little brother’s voice drew him back.

God.

Oh, god.

He forced clarity and found himself on a sharp slope of ice, once again on his belly, but this time gravity was attempting to drag him into the dark depths below. The soft glow of ice was no longer beautiful. It was more of a maw desperate to swallow him.

“Virgil! Answer me!” John sounded terrified.

“J-hn.”

Everything hurt so much.

“You have to climb, Virgil. Climb, please, big brother.” Such pleading couldn’t be ignored. He…he…had to…had to…oh, god…John, I can’t…hurts. He squeezed his eyes shut and moisture leaked out the cracks. But he was aware of his choices. Climb or die. The maw below gaped at him.

He couldn’t do that to John.

Couldn’t.

“Scott’s nearly there. Gordon’s with him. You just need to climb a little, Virgil, please.”

Climb.

He forced his right leg up. The crampon on his boot dug into the ice and took some of the weight off his arm. His ribcage complained at every movement. His left leg hung useless. He had no idea what was going on down there other than a few smears of red on the white blue which he wasn’t acknowledging. Scott would fix it.

Scott fixed everything.

Gordon.

The thought of his little brother seeing him like this was enough to bring his left hand in contact with the ice searching for a handhold. The cold burnt, but at least it wasn’t quite numb yet.

Yet.

Fingernails bit into frozen water and with a grunt Virgil inched himself up a little.

He wriggled the ice pick out of its purchase and, trying not to scream, whacked it back into the slope higher up.

A strangled whimper escaped anyway.

“I’m here, Virgil. You can do this.”

John believed in him.

He wanted to cry. He honestly didn’t know if he could do this. But John was his little brother, he couldn’t fail his little brother.

Couldn’t.

He dragged himself up again, grunting. All those workouts, all that training, and it came down to this.

The will to make it happen.

The slope trembled under him.

No. Please, no.

He dug his boot into the ice again and pushed up.

Up.

Fingernails in ice.

Pick out and digging in.

Pull up and try not to scream.

He failed that last almost every time. His ribs whited out his vision and he almost lost it.

Almost.

But John was there. His little brother urging him on. Only a voice, but so much more. John’s voice was always a soothing presence. He loved talking to John. Late at night when his brother couldn’t sleep so far up above Tracy Island. Virgil used the excuse to check up on him, but in reality, he just wanted to talk to John. He missed him.

John was made for the stars. They were his home and Virgil would never not encourage him to pursue his dreams, but he missed his brother. His quiet, gentle brother with the voice that should be singing. They were five, but there was always one missing and Virgil ached sometimes for his little brother’s absence.

“Love you, J-hn.”

“Virgil?! Talk to me! Scott’s on approach!”

Such alarm in that beautiful voice.

Virgil let his helmet contact the ice and just clung to the cliff face.

Breathing hurt.

He spat red.

That was not good.

As if to urge him on, the ice shook again.

He had to move, but he didn’t know if he could. “John, I-“

“Virgil Tracy, you move your ass now!”

The anger and fear in his brother’s voice startled him.

“I’m not losing you, big brother, not this close. You move and you move now!”

Virgil blinked and realised the ice was lighter here. He looked up and was surprised to see a patch of blue sky above. A roar swelled from beyond that patch. A familiar roar.

Scott.

Gordon.

He pulled the ice pick out and reaching up, sunk it in again. It bit in strong.

His whimper trembled in tune with the vibration of the ice beneath him as the glacier shook again.

Snow fell over the lip of the crevasse and dusted his helmet.

“That’s it, Virgil. Not far to go now.” There was hope in his little brother’s voice.

Can’t disappoint a little brother.

He pulled himself higher.

And again.

A shadow blotted out the light and a deeper, authoritive voice joined John’s.

Scott.

Oh, god, Scott.

He almost fell limp with relief.

That shadow became his big brother, became arms that held him, a safety line, an emergency upward ascent as the cliff face finally cracked beneath his finger tips and began to slide, threatening to take him with it.

Everything hurt.

Everything screamed.

John’s voice.

Scott’s voice.

Gordon pleading with him as he drifted away.

-o-o-o-

_“’Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrer,’ said one of the trolls._

_“’Never a blinking bit of man flesh have we had for long enough,’ said a second. ‘What the ‘ell William was a-thinkin’ of to bring us into these parts at all, beats me – and the drink runnin’ short, what’s more,’ he said jogging the elbow of William, who was taking a pull at his jug.”_

Virgil frowned. The three trolls. Bilbo was watching the three trolls.

_“William choked. ‘Shut yer mouth!’ he said as soon as he could. ‘Yer can’t expect folk to stop here for ever just to be et by you and Bert. You’ve et a village and a half between yer, since we come down from the mountains. How much more d’yer want? And some time’s been up our way, when yer’d have said ‘thank yer Bill’ for a nice bit o’ fat valley mutton like what this is.’”_

John’s accent was perfect. The familiar words sculpted out the scene in his head and he anticipated the drama that he knew was going to happen next.

His little brother’s voice sketched out the action of Bilbo and the dwarves being captured and Virgil just enjoyed it. It was a long moment before the question of why John was reading to him actually occurred.

It stopped him in his tracks.

He was lying in a bed. Most of his body was numb and his head was foggy.

John had such a musical voice. He could listen to it for hours. He really wished his brother would sing more often. Their mother used to sing and John had inherited that from her, but he refused most of the time. Virgil thought it was a travesty, a wasted talent. But it was John’s choice.

The trolls turned to stone as Virgil began to realise a few important facts.

The bed wasn’t his.

It smelt like hospital.

He tried to draw on his most recent memories and came up blank. This was disconcerting and increased his heart rate. A rapid electronic beep was the result.

John stopped reading. “Virgil?”

“Mmmhmm.”

A scuffle off to his left. “Can you open your eyes?”

Could he?

A slow blink and light flooded in. He squinted. Ugh.

“Hey, there you are.” There was a smile in his brother’s voice and Virgil forced his eyes to open again to confirm it.

John was standing over him, complexion pale and drawn, but smiling. There were dark smudges under those turquoise eyes.

Virgil frowned. “Are you okay?”

John’s half-hysterical laugh at those words had Virgil widening his eyes. His brother touched his arm and squeezed gently as his other hand reached for his collar. God, that shirt still sucked. “Scott, Virgil’s awake.” There was a mutter of acknowledgement and John’s gaze fell back to Virgil. “It’s good to see you.”

Virgil blinked. “What happened?” Something had obviously happened. John looked like death warmed up.

His brother didn’t get a chance to answer as the door flew open and a mess of an eldest brother tore into the room. “Virgil!”

Virgil stared at Scott. He looked awful. His usually perfect hair was askew. He had canyons under his eyes and their blue was dulled by exhaustion.

“What the hell happened?!” Virgil tried to sit up.

And failed spectacularly. Both Scott and John reached out to hold him down, but they needn’t have bothered, his body wasn’t working. That alarmed him even more.

“Hey, Virgil, look at me.” And John was holding his gaze. “Take a breath in.”

Virgil blinked, his heart beating a mile a minute, but did as he was told. His body responded like a creaky and numb old machine.

“Now let it go.”

He did and melted into the bed, suddenly exhausted.

His eyes darted back to his wreck of an eldest brother. “What happened?”

“You fell into an ice crevasse during a rescue. Broke a few ribs and mangled your left knee. There was some bleeding.”

His medic brain filled in the gaps. “Bad?”

Scott’s eyes dipped a moment and Virgil’s heart sank. His brother looked like he had been through hell and back. “I’m sorry.”

That did it. “Are you kidding me?!”

“What?”

A pale hand reached across the bed and touched his big brother’s arm. “Scott.”

The man visibly deflated. “Not your fault, Virg.”

Virgil’s eyes searched his brother’s face. What the hell had happened?

“Virgil.” John’s soft voice drew his gaze to the other side of the bed. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to take some time, but you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay.”

Scott dropped heavily into the chair beside the bed, his head dropping into one hand.

“Scott?”

His big brother reached out and grabbed his bandaged fingers and squeezed tight. Scott refused to look at him, his face hidden by his hand.

Virgil’s heart clenched.

It had been bad.

The need to apologise rose to his lips again, but a tug on his other arm drew his attention back to John. A subtle shake of his head and Virgil remained silent.

Another glance at Scott sitting beside him and he squeezed those fingers gently.

John dragged over his chair and sat down again, not once letting go of Virgil’s arm. He picked up his tablet and a moment later, resumed reading ‘The Hobbit’. Virgil stared at him a moment as he let the words wash over him.

He still didn’t remember much, but there was something about his little brother’s voice, something leading him on, pushing him forward, making him do what needed to be done.

He watched those turquoise eyes track text and those lips translate it.

And speak with that musical voice.

-o-o-o-

FIN.


End file.
